


Lube in the Time of Corona

by intothecest



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Brother/Sister Incest, COVID-19, Corona Virus - Freeform, F/M, Incest, Isolation, Just Talking About It, Lube, No One In The Story Actually Gets Sick, No Smut, Pandemics, Post-Gravity Falls, Sibling Incest, Twincest, pinecest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23175208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothecest/pseuds/intothecest
Summary: As anxiety about an ongoing viral pandemic increases, Mabel returns from a shopping trip loaded up with toilet paper and other supplies.  Dipper discovers his twin sister has weird ideas about what's necessary to stock up on, and what a quarantine would actually entail.
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines/Mabel Pines
Comments: 18
Kudos: 58





	Lube in the Time of Corona

**Author's Note:**

> When Shakespeare was quarantined because of the plague, he wrote King Lear.  
> I wrote this masterpiece about aged-up cartoon twins deciding to engage in incest. You're welcome.

It sounded like someone was kicking the front door. It took a few seconds for Dipper Pines to realize that was exactly what was happening, or something very much like it, a rough pounding that got his heart thumping. He pulled off his headphones and cautiously left his room. Had law and order totally broken down? It seemed awful fast for that but he couldn't rule it out... this pandemic had progressed startlingly fast. _Oh god, Mabel's out there...._ he thought to himself, his gaze turning back to her door, open, her bedroom empty. She went out a while back to _'pick up a few things'_ and Dipper got so engrossed in his game he didn't realize that it must be hours and she still hasn't come back.

He reached for the first weapon he could find on his way through the living room... which wasn't actually a weapon at all, but rather the handle of a broom, but he figured he could give whoever was at his door a good thumping over the head if they were a problem. The door lurched again as he was only feet away, making him flinch and take a deep, steadying breath. _Step one, take out whatever marauder's at the door. Step two, find Mabel._

As it turned out, it was only one step. A quick look through the peephole revealed that it was Mabel herself at the door, though at first it looked like she was wearing some kind of elaborate costume made out of discarded household goods. Then he realized that she was carrying it all, loaded down like a human pack mule, shopping bags on her arms and packages of toilet paper rolls strapped to both her front and back, and separate backpacks slung over each of her shoulders. As he watched, she lifted her bare leg and gave the door another kick. 

He turned the lock on the doorknob and pulled the door open. "Finally!" Mabel said and, once she maneuvered herself through the doorframe, dropped the heaviest bags at her feet, then began systematically shedding herself of the others. On her back, strung across both shoulders, she had yet another backpack, one of his larger ones for camping, that was holding the package of toilet paper to her back, along with assorted other items. She slipped first the left, then the right, and finally that center backpack, and went to work on her front. With a soft tearing sound, she pulled the last toilet paper value pack package off her front, where it was just stuck there. He realized she was wearing her Vel Crow sweater, featuring a large bird made of velcro hooks, so she could attach things to her torso with the velcro-loop stickytape she always had in the car. Some people might call the design poor taste right now, but she'd ingeniously used the idea to help carry one more thing on her already overloaded body. She was a lot stronger than people gave her credit for, though. The real problem was that she must have been unable to move freely enough to get her keys out, hence needing him to let her into their shared apartment, and needing to kick to get his attention. He couldn't even imagine how she loaded up from the car. "With The Coming Plague, I just figured we should have some supplies."

"You know, Mabel, you could have taken two trips." Unless of course, this _was_ just one of multiple trips. "Or dropped some of this in the hallway while you waited."

"Nuh-uh," she insisted. "With the valuables I'm carrying? Someone would have broken into our car. I had to park in the rear, come in through the backdoor, just to be safe. Turn my back for one second and someone might have snatched away all my hard work. Even the woman in the elevator, I saw it, she was _staring_. I bet she was thinking about robbing me." Or, more likely, she was wondering _wtf?_ "Everything changes in a plague time. The thin veneer of civilization starts to flake away, and people become _animals_ , act on the instincts they've long suppressed." She took a breath. "Did you hear? They're cancelling classes." 

"Yeah. It's just precaution." It was weird, normally _he_ was the hypochondriac of the pair. In fact, he _was_ quietly stacking up anxiety about the virus, even though there were only a few cases in their area. But now that his twin sister was also freaking out, it seemed like he _had_ to calm down just to maintain the balance of the universe. "And it's only the _in person_ classes. They'll still be having them online, once they get things set up in a few days. Relax, Mabel. President Trembley is on top of things." 

Even though it's been years, every so often it struck him how weird it was that his many opponents still hadn't gotten Quentin Trembley III out of office since the two found him in Gravity Falls and it was revealed that he was technically still President. Even weirder was, as incredibly chaotic and, frankly, _silly_ as his presidency had been, on _this_ he seemed to be doing a good job. Oh, sure, there were missteps, like when he misunderstood the virus name made him think _Corvids_ were responsible and decreed that all crows, ravens, rooks, jackdaws and magpies needed to wear tiny face masks in public or be subject to arrest. And yes, the executive order that (after a second similar misunderstanding involving beer) changed the official name of the virus to _The Coming Plague_ (with mandatory dramatic emphasis--you were subject to a fine if you said it and a cop couldn't hear the capitalization in your voice) probably did overall increase anxiety rather than alleviate it. But otherwise, surprisingly good job from Trembley, moving swiftly into action, right from the first signs, to activate the pandemic prevention team that was in place, mandating that every person who even felt a little funny had access to a test that the government paid for, making sure numbers were tracked and reported, ensuring accurate information made it out to the public, relaxing rules so more people could enroll to the social safety nets, telling people to stay home from work if they were sick, and so on. He even made made and starred in a rap music video so that the phrase 'flattening the curve'--the idea of slowing the infection rates so the system didn't get overwhelmed--got into everyone's public consciousness. So what if he still occasionally sent out Biohazard Teams after birds just from reports of probable caws? At least he seemed to take it seriously and genuinely care about the danger to people and was doing reasonable things to combat it instead of minimizing. 

After so much incompetence, having Trembley live up to _that_ standard at least, to do the bare minimum level of competence people would demand from their leaders, was reassuring. Imagine having somebody who couldn't? People were saying his handling of the crisis might just win him re-election again despite the foothold the virus had gotten in the country (because of the long incubation period before symptoms showed, something he had little control over). Of course rumors were also flying that Trembley himself had been exposed to the virus and had retreated to a peanut brittle cocoon until a cure could be found, and if that was the case they'd probably leave him there.. 

"You wouldn't be saying that if you saw the stores today, Dipper. It's madness. And I hear things. I'm a congresswoman, remember." Well, not _exactly_. That was one of Trembley's decisions that didn't stick, the actual congress pointed out he didn't have the authority for that, but it looked good on Mabel's college application and every so often Trembley sent somebody around to give her a classified briefing anyway. One of those happened just the other day and might have spawned this new panic. His sister lowered her voice to a whisper. "They're talking about mass shutdown of the city to make sure The Coming Plague doesn't spread any further."

"Okay," Dipper said, trying not to sound too worried by it. He'd heard that rumor too, other countries were doing the same sort of thing, a lockdown of most businesses so people couldn't congregate in public, potentially spreading or catching the virus except in an emergency. That was a bit scary, but so was the virus, and if it was precautionary, that wasn't so bad. Stocking up might not be a bad idea, and yet... "So you made sure to buy lots of toilet paper?" He looked at the mess at her feet... it wasn't all toilet paper, but it seemed like in total more than a hundred rolls. Even if they did a lockdown they figured it'd only be a few weeks. "Instead of, like, food?"

"I got some food too. But there was plenty of other stuff on the shelves. Toilet paper... if quarantine fails, that might be worth more than gold. Believe me, I was conservative. People were filling their carts with these things. They were almost out by the time I got there."

That was another thing Dipper had seen on the news, mostly in other countries--shortages of toilet paper. He grinned. "So weird that in the middle of a pandemic people are super concerned that their butts will be clean." He wasn't the one to come up with the joke, but a little levity might relax Mabel. Though now that he looked in her eyes, she didn't actually seem panicked, just overprepared. 

"Clean butts are _important_ , Dipper. Trust me." She began taking the toilet paper into the closet by the bathroom.

With as much as she got, Dipper wasn't sure it would fit in there. If nothing else, it would be a tight squeeze. "Okay, but I hope you got other stuff too." Since his twin sister was busy, he figured he'd help out putting the other stuff away, and dug into the other bags to see what survivalist treasures they held. Pasta, that was good. It was his turn to cook tonight and he had some spaghetti planned. Most his next few revealed seemed to be snacks, which was less irresponsible than it might have seemed to an outsider. They actually already did have a fair bit of food stored up, big bags of rice, and potatoes, weeks worth of instant ramen, and a decent supply of canned food (including a disconcerting number of cans of The Brown Meat) that had been slowly accumulating over the last few months, as though Mabel was worried about something like this. Snacks were different--they ran out too fast because even if they had extra it just meant that they tended to eat more. Now, though, she had gotten several bags each of Cheese Boodles and Gummy Koalas, snacks they both enjoyed (although only Mabel was wild enough to combine them). Some cans of Pitt Cola, too, which really meant a lot... he was just about out... Mabel stopped drinking it, but to go to the effort of picking up a six pack when she was so loaded down with stuff, well, she was once again proving herself the best sister ever. It must have been the heaviest item in there...

No, wait, there was one more, a big bottle that he thought at first was soda, even though it didn't quite match the dimensions of any soda bottle. He slowly rotated the label, first encountering a star proclaiming this was the _'economy size!'_ version of the product, and beside that, a slogan, " _Can't Fit? Too Thick? Make it Boo Slick!_ " 

_What is this, a diet supplement?_ Dipper thought at first. Mabel _definitely_ didn't need one of those, she had curves but they were attractive curves. Then he turned the bottle more, and the very front came into view, an image of two cartoon ghosts who seemed to be hugging really really enthusiastically and dripping some kind of puddle of slime at their feet. Over that image, large cursive font text proclaimed the product as "Boo Slick: Personal Lubrication for You AND Your Boo." 

His face caught on fire... or at least, that's what it felt like. He wasn't familiar with that particular brand, but _personal lubrication_ definitely painted a picture. Actually, it didn't so much _paint a picture_ as splatter some vaguely defined goo on a canvas that _might_ make a picture if Dipper thought about it, which he dogmatically refused to do. Much.

They didn't talk much about that side of their lives. When they decided to move into an apartment together to go to college, they agreed on some ground rules, including nobody being allowed to bring dates home. The distance helped their otherwise great relationship stay that way. He knew Mabel dated, more often than he did, and though they never lasted long, he assumed she had _'the sex'_ (as he always referred to it in his head) with some of them... but he didn't want to see it or think about it and especially not hear anything through a thin wall. That might lead to _picturing_ things and that led nowhere good. Even just living together led to the occasional awkward moment where Mabel left her door open while she was changing and he happened to look that way on his way to the kitchen and both of them flustered when she spotted him. Or sometimes in the morning she'd come out just wearing a t-shirt over underwear and he'd have to stare very determinedly into his morning bowl of Overly Sensitive Owl cereal.

So Dipper knew how important was _not_ to think about how his sister might be using personal lubricant, or who or what she might be using it with, or how often she might use it to need an economy size bottle. So he was definitely not _going_ to think about that at least not until after the sun went down and his mind tended to wander in weird ways. Ideally he would have put the bottle back in the bag and pretended he hadn't seen it at all if Mabel hadn't just come back from fitting everything in the linen closet. She had to back against the door and push hard so the latch would set in its place, but she'd done that while he was staring at the bottle and was now back, looking at him looking at it. 

And probably looking at the firey red of his face that proved he knew what it was and the kind of things it was used for. "Uhm," he mumbled. "I guess this is yours." He gently placed it back on the ground and started to shuffle back towards his room. 

"Actually I'm glad you found that," she said, matter-of-factly, which stopped him in his tracks, thoughts circling to prepare himself for whatever conversation was coming. _Did I misunderstand? Misread the label? Is there a common household use for that?_ "Dipper, turn around and look at me. We have things we need to discuss and I'd rather not do it looking at your back." 

He did. Or at least, he looked towards her feet. But that was good enough. "This is vital survival gear, Dipper." Okay, now he could meet her eye, because of curosity if nothing else. "I bought this for both of us. If the city does go into total shutdown, we're going to need it. Think about it, man. We might be stuck in this apartment. For _weeks_. Nobody else allowed to come over. And it's just inevitable, we're going to have certain _urges_ that we need to be prepared for."

 _Oh,_ he thought. _She was talking about **masturbation**_. Mabel could be insanely practical about the weirdest things. Not that he really needed lube for that, but he wasn't sure how to bring that up without it getting awkward. He envied her fearlessness, and though this particular conversation was also awkward, it was _less_ awkward, now that she'd broached the subject, to continue. "It might not be that bad," he said, meaning the shutdown.

She went on as though he meant the urges. "No, no, we can't afford to think like that. I mean I'm sure we'll be able to hold out for a good while, but... if my extensive fanfic reading history has taught me _anything_ it's that when you trap _any_ two people together like that, whether it's a snowstorm or deserted island or plague... they _will_ end up having sex."

"What?" Dipper said, a flat monotone, the statement taking such a bizarre turn at the end that he wasn't even sure how to process it. "Mabel, you're my _sister_."

" _Even_ if they're related," she insisted, earnestly. "Maybe _especially_ , judging by some of the stuff I've read. There's no point expecting we can fight against it forever. Fanfic doesn't lie, Dipper, so we need to be realistic. Boredom and stir-craziness will eventually set in, and we _will_ end up either murdering each other or boning. And I know I could never _kill_ you, Dipper, so it's going to have to be screwing. We may or may not wind up falling in love, too but we'll definitely be boinking a whole lot."

Now Dipper found his mouth working, opening and closing, but no sound came out. _This must be what it's like when you have no words._

Mabel still did, though, and they just kept getting wilder. "And you know, I'm _fine_ with that, if that's what it takes to get through The Coming Plague." _Did Mabel just say she was fine with us having sex?_ And not just that, she considered that they might even _fall in love_. Dipper felt a part of himself, a long suppressed part, that held deep and previously-thought-impossible dreams, begin to awaken, and at the same time, another part jolt to life like it was hit with an electric shock. "But the store was already mostly out of condoms. I got a handful, but, you know, with the city shut down, we can't count on reliable access to family planning, so, I think for the most part, we should stick to _anal_."

Now that part that was shocked to life was hard. "Anal," he repeated. He wasn't sure how to admit that he was not entirely against that prospect with his sister... it was... well, it was _totally_ a kind of sex, but it was somehow deniable enough that Dipper could just delude himself into thinking it wasn't with a lot of effort. But that was the kind of effort he was willing to put in.

"Hence, lube. I bought a lot of it, because I think it's going to be vital. You can do me in the anus, brobro, but you're not going in dry. I mean, it doesn't _have_ to be you doing the penetrating... I'm flexible. If you'd rather you be the catcher in this, that's totally cool, I've got a few ideas how to make that work too... you know how I love a good crafting project. Or maybe we'll switch off, so we don't get bored."

To his own surprise, he wasn't entirely against _that_ prospect either. He didn't know for sure if he would be into that, and he'd prefer the usual way much more, but, as long as they were experimenting that far, why not try a little more? But definitely not without lube. And if Mabel did craft something he'd have to make sure she laid off on the glitter. _I don't want glitter coming out of m... Wait am I actually considering this?_

Dipper shook his head, firmly pressed his eyes shut, then opened them again, as though to check if it was a dream. Everything was still there. Damn. That meant _somebody_ had to be the voice of reason here. It was always tempting to just follow along and enjoy the ride when Mabel got some crazy idea in her head, and maybe especially so with _this_ one but... he wasn't going to let her talk herself into something this relationship-stretching, out of fear of the virus. It would be one thing if she wanted it. "Mabel, this is ridiculous. This isn't necessary. Even if the city shuts down... they're saying it's just like restaurants and gatherings. You can still go outside for fresh air. Even grocery stores will still be open."

"Yes, unless one of _us_ catches The Coming Plague and it becomes an official quarantine. Then we won't be _allowed_ out until the symptoms go away. And by one of us, I mean probably you, first, and then me since we share space. If I was living on my own I could probably escape infection... but _you_ , you're like a germ magnet. You could catch a virus if it fell from space." Her eyes lit up and she started to add, "In fact..."

"I know, I know." Years ago, an outbreak of what they came to call Dance Fever did come from space, hitching a ride on a meteorite, and Dipper was Patient Zero. Gravity Falls got _weird_ sometimes (though he might have to redefine that word, now). Mabel occasionally brought up their Dance Fever infection obliquely--like the time she encouraging a girl at their Freshmen mixer party to get on the dance floor with him, embarassing him by insisting he was _really good at it_ \--but mostly the twins seemed to have mutually and tacitly agreed not to mention that intense tango they shared in their bedroom while in the throes of the infection. Pregnant with subtext as it was, it was one of the biggest and most awkward twin encounters Dipper remembered from their adolescence. Or ever, really, although this was poised to top it... stretching _subtext_ farther than it had ever been stretched before, maybe until it burst into being just text, the scattered letters now spelling _buttsex_. If it went on. "But we're not going to go stir crazy... we'd still have Internet and everything."

She thought about that for a second, then said, "Unless The Coming Plague mutates and becomes a _computer_ virus too. It could happen." No, it couldn't. And as ridiculous as it was, it didn't sound like it was something she was legitimately afraid of happening, but instead she was smiling when she said it, as though having some kind of half-assed explanation was what she was looking for. Maybe that was what this was all about. "Besides, you never know when this kind of stir-craziness will hit. Frankly, I'm surprised we haven't succumbed already just from _living_ together the way we do, but I guess with school we both got out just enough to prevent us from falling into the trope. But now we don't even have _that_ so we're in full cest-ship-danger-zone." 

Okay, he got it now. Mabel was doing that thing where she made excuses, not for herself, but because she wanted to convince _him_ of something. That meant this _was_ something she wanted, and she was both being unpredictably wacky and thoroughly practical about it in the mix that only she seemed to be able to manage. Which left him with the choice, go along for the ride or nip the idea in the butt. _Bud, the phrase is bud._

_Butt_ sounded better. He looked down at the floor at the bottle of lube. "I mean it's probably best we make sure we don't get sick, even before the shutdown. Self-isolate, you know? Flatten the curve. It's the responsible thing to do."

She flashed her braces in a brilliant grin. "Exactly! That's some good thinking, Dipper. I mean, if we wait till we start coughing, then we might not be in the mood for sex at all when the boredom hits and I don't know _what_ we'll do then. So we should probably start practicing good quarantine procedures right now. For the good of everyone. Get it out of the way, you know?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh. So... how are you doing right, now, feeling _bored_?"

Mabel put a finger to the side of her lips, play-acting considering it. "You know, I think I _am_ a little bored. Hey, Dipper." She leaned against the nearest wall and bent slightly, just enough to push her skirt-covered butt out. "Want to go into my room and practice _flattening the curve_."

Dipper drew back, blinked. "Did you just use _flattening the curve_ as a euphemism for sex?" 

" _Maaaaaybe._ " Maybe it wasn't as incongruous as he first thought... after all, he _could_ picture the curve she would make lying on the bed, on her stomach, arched like that, and he _did_ indeed want to try to flatten it to the mattress. She slipped past him and, without any warning, started a mad dash for her room. "Last one to the bed brings the lube."

He bent over, got the bottle, inspected it again, and followed at a more normal pace. He might not be able to prevent The Coming Plague, but there was no reason not to still pack as much joy into life as possible in the meantime.

As he closed the door, his sister couldn't resist and saying, "Hey Dipper. Bet you're glad I bought all that toilet paper _now_. I _told_ you butt-cleanliness was going to be important."

**The End**


End file.
